All The World Is Waiting For The Sun
by otownsangel
Summary: Rain, rain, go away, Come again another day, All the world is waiting for the sun... Post-3x16, Supernatural/Bones crossover.


_Disclaimer:_ I own nothing…

_Summary:_ Rain, rain, go away,  
Come again another day,  
All the world is waiting for the sun. (Post-3x16, Supernatural/Bones crossover)

_Rating:_ R (for language… Probably doesn't even really require an R rating)

_Author's Note:_ A dark little post-3x16 fic, in a made up world in which Sam Winchester has had a relationship with Temperance Brennan. Therefore, it's a strange little Supernatural/Bones crossover, in which Supernatural plays the biggest role. The idea popped into my head while I was attempting to put together the Sam/Bren video I'm currently working on… There are certain things here that may require a certain suspension of disbelief, as they may not follow exactly what could be believable within the series, but this isn't about that, it's about Sam, and his desperation to find something to hold onto after losing Dean…

And please, let me know what you think on this one, because I actually, genuinely _like_ it, and I've never been able to say that about one of my stories upon first posting them before, and I want to know whether or not it works for anyone else… It's not exactly a terribly traditional writing format, but that tends to be how I write, so -- let me know if it makes any sense.

Lyrics and title from "Rain" by Breaking Benjamin.

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All The World Is Waiting For The Sun:

* * *

Her words ring loud in broken ears, the remnants of his shattered heart trickling to the ground at his feet as he tries, so desperately, to move, to speak, to dispute the utter ridiculousness of the statement she has just pressed past her lips, her eyes stung with betrayal and anger and -- he's pretty sure that's hatred floating there.

And it's not like he can blame her. After all he's done, all he's seen, all he's been _accused_ of, it makes sense that she would have needed confirmation on exactly the kind of man he is, and it makes sense that this would be the conclusion to come from it all, but that doesn't change the fact that it's _wrong_ and he doesn't know how to make her believe that, but he _has_ to, because even if she doesn't want him, even if she wants him to turn and fade away and never materialize before her again, he _can't_ let her believe he'd do something so horrifyingly malicious. Because he cares about her, so deeply, and he can't go on with his life, allowing her to believe that he's the man she's managed to convince herself he is.

* * *

__

Take a photograph; it'll be the last.  
Not a dollar or a crowd could ever keep me here.

* * *

He feels cold and it takes only a moment before he realizes that it's the darkness in her eyes; the cold _he_ has put there, and tears burn his eyes. Tears that sting almost as deep as those he had felt in the moments when he had held his brother's lifeless body in his arms. He had come here, desperate for the connection he had felt with her all that time ago, but it was wrong, and he could _feel_ that wrong, because here she was, and she was doing so much more than just turning him away. She was labeling him a coldhearted monster, and that was not something he had ever wanted her to see in him… Maybe it was there, somewhere, buried deep -- after all, they had all told him that it was, hadn't they? -- but this, _this_ was not him.

He stumbles back as she pulls the phone from her pocket, so clearly desperate to see him go, to see him _let_ go. Because in her eyes, there is a cold almost as deep as the one echoed in his own -- because he had been the light there, for so long, and she had been his, because after Dean, she had been the only flicker left for him to hold, and now that light, the one in her eyes, was not only dampened, but extinguished… She had nothing left for him, because in her eyes he was a murderer. All of her science, her logic, her friends -- every damn thing around her was telling her that he had murdered his brother in cold blood, and maybe she could have forgiven him if he had killed to _protect_ him, but she was convinced that he had put an end to Dean's life himself…

Nothing could be proven, of course, because he _hadn't_ done it, but there had been an investigation, and everyone in the entire damn world now believed that Samuel Winchester had put an end to his own brother's life, and then run, leaving behind nothing but blood and tears and half a fucking massacre, because that's _exactly_ what it looked like, wasn't it? And he shouldn't have been surprised. When he had come to see her -- when he had shown up on her damn doorstep, and begged her not to turn him away, even after everything they had been through way back when, he had actually believed that somehow, _somehow_ Temperance Brennan would be immune to accusations and evidence, and every other fucking thing that named him not only a murderer, but the murdererof his own brother. The brother he had _doted_ on since the first moment that he can even remember, and, he's sure, long before that.

But that's not something that she can see, not something _anyone_ can see, and really, what possible reason would she have to believe him? When they had met, when all of this -- whatever the hell it was -- had started, he had been at Stanford, and he and Dean hadn't exactly been on the best of terms then, and he wasn't even sure he had _mentioned_ that he had a brother, much less that said brother had been his fucking _world_ for most his entire life, and so why would she possibly believe him when he told her that he had loved his brother with everything that he was, and he would have given his life to keep him safe? Because either way, whether he could convince her to believe him or not, never mentioning that he had a big brother couldn't possibly bode well for his relationship with her… Because on the one hand, he hadn't cared enough about Dean to mention him to her -- not exactly a stellar defense against the murder accusations -- and on the other, he hadn't cared enough about _her_ to let her into his world…

* * *

__

I don't have a past, I just have a chance.  
Not a family or honest plea remains to say

* * *

"_Please_." It's all he can muster in the middle of all this; her fingers working the buttons on that damn phone, and his mind hurtling him through a thousand different thoughts and emotions and every fucking one is focused around his brother, and he had been trying, trying _so_ damn hard to put that out of his mind, because it fucking _hurt_ to pull those thoughts up to the surface and it was hell to actually have to face them, and he wanted to just _channel_ everything he was feeling into her head, because it was the only way he could think that might actually convince her to at least just _listen_ to him, but he couldn't do that, and so here he was, begging and on the verge of tears, and for some _stupid_ reason, he felt like he was going to pass out from all these damn emotions, because they were fucking _overwhelming_.

And then, through some miracle, her eyes are softening, but not enough to let him in -- either way, though, it's enough, and she's ending the call and looking at him, because he knows, he _knows_ that something in her doesn't fear him, and might even want to believe him, because he had never given her any indication that he could be so cold, and somewhere inside her, there's still that _trust_ flickering there from that time that he had saved her life, and even if her mind tells her not to, she clearly can't bring herself to turn him away without allowing him some chance at redeeming himself. Because she _wants_ him to be innocent. He can see it, shimmering and dancing behind the pretty blue tint in her eyes, and it makes him want to cry, because he's been _so_ alone since he lost Dean, and though that's partly his own fault for shutting down, he _needs her_, and he thinks here, now, he might have some chance at salvaging whatever it is that this disaster they have created might still have to offer.

"You _killed_ him." It comes out clear, and it's not a question, but there's a waver there, and he _knows_ that's an opening, and she's not quite so sure anymore, and he wants to fucking cry and scream and just -- _something_, because maybe he won't have to _be_ so damn alone anymore; because maybe she could be there, and she could believe him, and maybe there's some chance she could fall in love with him all over again…

"I didn't do it." The words are so familiar, yet so foreign on his tongue as his eyes find hers, desperate and shining with tears he _will not_ cry, not in front of her, and he feels like he might just fall to his knees right then and there, because that pressure and relief and everything else that's pulling at his heart has him feeling unsteady and he's not sure how much longer he can stand anyway, but he doesn't because he _has_ to make her believe him -- because he _needs_ her acceptance and her comfort and her love. "I didn't do it, Temperance, I didn't. I swear to _God _I didn't kill him. Couldn't have. _Never_. I_ loved_ him, _looked up _to him. He practically fucking _raised_ me, and he was my everything my entire life, because he was _the only_ constant. Dad, dad left -- left both of us, and Dean, Dean _took care_ of me. He was only little himself and he shouldn't have had to, but he _did_, and he was my _everything_. I tried to _save_ him, Temperance. Did _everything_ I could to keep him alive, but I _couldn't_. He died because of me, because he was so desperate to protect me and to keep me safe, but I _did not_ kill him. I would have given my life to protect him if he had let me… _I didn't kill him_."

He wasn't even sure he was making sense, but even if he wasn't, there was something behind her eyes that whispered to him that maybe, even if his words were rushed and unsure and _crazy_, it didn't matter, because something in her was responding, because he was _honest_ and he had never lied to her, and something in his words, in his voice, sounded _true_.

And he wasn't sure how much time had passed, but somehow, he ended up in her arms, barely holding himself up as her body supported him and he _clung_ to her like she was all he had left, and in reality she was, because Dean was gone, and his father was gone, and Jess was gone, and every damn person he had _ever_ loved was _gone_, and she really was all he had left to hold onto, and so he held tight, and the wash of tears he had been holding back since he had lost Dean came rushing from his eyes, and she just _held_ him. She held him, and she pushed the hair from his eyes, and she whispered that it was okay, that it was all okay, and he didn't know if he believed her, or if she believed him, but it felt so right to finally have _something_ and so he held on and he cried and for the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn't scared and he wasn't _alone_…

* * *

__

Rain, rain, go away,  
Come again another day,  
All the world is waiting for the sun.

* * *

And when she takes him back to his motel and she settles him on the ragged couch beside her, he tells her everything, _everything_, and he knows she thinks he's crazy, because, really, who wouldn't? And he knows how much she believes in her science and logic and everything in the world that she can _see_ and _touch_ and _know_, and there's no reason for her to believe him anyway, because no one would, but she _listens_ and she lets him talk, and it's enough, because there is nothing more he could possibly ask of her, and she's already giving him so much more than he deserves. When he finally stops talking, he feels numb and drained and cold, but there's a warmth in her eyes, even behind the sad little half smile she's wearing as she watches him and holds his hand in hers, her fingers so gentle and warm and inviting, that even if that little sparkle is there out of pity for this sad vision of himself, it doesn't matter, because something in her still cares for him, and that's enough. It may not be the love he so desperately misses, but it's _enough_.

And when he kisses her, she doesn't push him away. She leans closer, and her lips are so soft and gentle, and she feels like _home_ -- something he's not sure he's ever known before -- and it's enough to make him want to stay here, like this, forever, consequences be damned…

* * *

__

Is it you I want,  
Or just the notion of a heart to wrap around,  
so I can find my way around

* * *

When he wakes and she's gone, there's a stinging pain that bites at his heart, but it doesn't matter, because there's still the feeling that, even through it all there's no more hatred there, and there's a chance that maybe it could stay that way and maybe she won't hate him… And that's enough, because really, what else could he ask for? He is not meant to be anything but alone; he is not meant to have love or happiness or family -- because if he ever did, if he ever decided to really _be_ with her, he knew better than anyone that it would end bloody, because he had never had anything more than that… Because love was not an option in his world. In his world, everyone around him fell at the mercy of whatever the hell this destiny was, and he knew better than to pull someone new in with him, because no matter how hard he tried to fight it, there was a darkness in his soul that had only just begun to overshadow the light… Because when you're forced to watch your own brother die, essentially at your own hand -- because really, it was _your_ fault he made that damn deal -- there's little that can pull you back… And he was cold, and that darkness was overwhelming, but she had calmed it, if only for a moment, with the blinding light that took up residence in her very soul, and he imagined he could hold on just a little bit longer now…

Maybe even long enough to bring his brother home.

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All the world is waiting for the sun.

* * *


End file.
